


Falling Slowly

by would_not_touch



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Actor Jean Kirstein, Actor Marco Bott, Actors, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Duet, Irish Marco Bott, Jean has walls higher than Maria Sina and Rose, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2018, M/M, Music, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/would_not_touch/pseuds/would_not_touch
Summary: My recipient gave me some great prompts to work with. So, here goes. In this, theatre buff Jean takes things way too seriously because onstage is the only place he's comfortable. As my giftee put it: he knows what to do there, there's no guessing, it's all scripted. Then there's Marco, who takes absolutely nothing seriously, who laughs when something cocks up instead of panicking (my giftee's words again). As they fall for each other, our favorite angel has all the sweetness of a malt beer, and Jean is a little fiery like a shot of Jameson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HedonistInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/gifts).



> For HedonistInk ♡ It’s not perfect, but it was made with love.
> 
> These are a couple of things I reference in case anyone would like to check them out. 
> 
>  
> 
> The play, _At Swim, Two Boys._ I saw posters for it everywhere when I was in Dublin.
> 
> Falling Slowly, a duet from _Once._ I like the version by Cristin Miloti and Steve Kazee. :)

Jean jogged up the subway stairs, coffee in hand and a nervous energy in his belly. He turned up the volume on the music blasting through his headphones, trying to convince himself with the poppy beat that he was ready for this audition although the violent butterflies flying in his chest disagreed, and the plain toast he’d had for breakfast felt like a weight sinking in the pit of his stomach. He took a pull from his coffee, trying to focus on the warmth of the liquid that contrasted with the cold air.

For the next few blocks, Jean pushed through the busy sidewalks of New York City and took deep breaths, becoming more frustrated with each one that did nothing to calm his stuttering, adrenaline-spiked heart. Deep breaths. He groaned. What shitty advice. Eventually, Jean gave up on the deep breathing and fiddled with the ring he wore on a necklace; rubbing his thumb over the textured engraving was his go-to nervous habit.

The young actor continued to feel a buzz in his nerves as he entered the theater amongst other hopefuls auditioning for roles. The theater was a century old with a brick exterior and a weathered vintage marquis. It was inconspicuous and small; one could probably walk right by it and never notice it was there. And, though, by appearances, it wasn’t much, this place meant a lot to Jean. 

To him, it held magic and nostalgia in its carved ceilings and worn velvet seats. Many acclaimed actors, directors, and playwrights had gotten their starts as members of the Historia Theatre Company—always known for producing grittier, more daring shows. It was legendary for being an artist's paradise, and, soon, Jean might get to be a part of it.

Despite being worked up internally, Jean sipped his coffee nonchalantly as he settled near the back of the dark, intimate auditorium, braced one boot-clad foot up against the seat in front of him, and flipped open his sides to go through them one more time. 

He fell into his own world as he rehearsed his part, the strokes of his highlighter precise and his notes written neatly in the margins. He blocked out the world moving around him, the other actors chatting and milling about, until someone spoke directly to him.

“Hi, Jean. Long time, no see.”

Jean startled, baffled to find himself looking up into the face of Marco Bott. 

Marco relaxed into the seat next to Jean without ever losing the grace in his long limbs. He leaned forward and sat with his knees spread apart to remove his motorcycle jacket and toss it over the next seat. Jean suddenly remembered his own coat and heavy scarf that he went to remove immediately. Marco wore a knowing smile, but there was no malice behind it. He looked at Jean with an energy that said he was genuinely happy to see him. 

Jean, meanwhile, shied away from his gaze. Marco could always read him too well; he seemed to notice the uncertainty behind Jean’s distressed jeans and black-painted nails. It was like he could tell somehow that Jean felt like a kid playing dress-up, could tell that he was aching to camouflage himself in his own skin.

Jean tugged on one of his earrings once his winter clothes were set aside, wondering if Marco was really here or if he himself was actually still in bed having an anxiety dream and oversleeping for the audition. He noticed that Marco’s chiseled jawline remained unchanged, still sexy as hell in profile, and the thick brown hair above his undercut looked like it would still be as silky to the touch.

“Hm, I haven’t run into my friend, Bella, yet,” Marco mused. “I think she’s auditioning too.” Marco turned to aim a soft grin at Jean. “How have you been?”

Jean wanted to ask _What are you doing here?_ but he stalled for words, invisible honey gluing his mouth shut.

“You looked deep in thought, as usual.” Marco chuckled. The sound was gentle and warm, his voice a deep baritone that Jean remembered well. Marco’s Irish accent dripped off his words, as if he needed to be any dreamier.

Jean regarded Marco. “Just going over the scene again,” he gestured to the papers in his hand.

“Ah,” Marco nodded, “right.” 

“All right, everyone,” came a call from the casting director. “Please find a seat. We will begin with those reading for the part of Julian.”

Marco shot Jean another brief smile. Jean suddenly felt a lot more nervous.

—

Three years ago, Jean auditioned for the lead in NYU Drama’s summer intensive play. Marco was a visiting graduate student from Columbia meant to provide critique and assist with direction since the show was entirely student led. 

Jean killed his audition that summer. He knew he did. A talented playwright in his year, Armin Arlert, had written the show and had even told Jean he wrote the lead character with Jean in mind. Jean had spent days poring over the audition sides, and he knew every beat of his interpretation. 

In fact, Jean had a habit of immersing himself in who he was supposed to be onstage. He prepared relentlessly for every role, leaving no stone unturned in the analysis of his character, the person he was supposed to transform into night after night. He gave himself fully to the process—often to the detriment of, you know, living real life. 

His craft was the one thing that helped him feel useful and at ease. He knew his work would always be there for him. He could always study and practice harder to take himself out of his own head. He could craft the lines of a show so that they had the greatest impact on an audience, and he could rely on the feeling of satisfaction and elated exhaustion that came from completing a show for the night.

All of this had been a part of Jean for as long as he could remember. But when it came to summer intensive that year, Jean didn’t get the part. 

Instead, all summer long, Jean had to watch Eren (Fucking) Jaeger lead the cast in a show that morphed itself over weeks of rehearsal into something entirely different than the script Jean originally read. The cast and crew experimented with different tones with the help of their directors, and eventually they settled on a more comedic vibe. 

And Jean had to admit that the show did have audiences howling with laughter. But that wasn’t really the point. The students were in an elite drama program, of course they were going to organize a brilliant show. Even though the finished product was something they could all stand behind, it was being on the sidelines for all that time that was infuriating to Jean. All those weeks, he mostly helped the crew with organizing, and, when he could get away with it, he watched the actors who had gotten cast refine their roles onstage.

One night, Marco found Jean curled up in an auditorium seat completely in the dark as the main cast ran through a pivotal scene on the stage. It was hours after most of the cast and crew had been allowed to go home. 

“Hey,” Marco said.

Marco and Jean had never really had a conversation before, but they spent time with a lot of the same people, and they'd shared more than a few intimate glances over the dinner table while their friends were around. There seemed to be a connection there, but Marco was a mentor—an attractive master's student well out of Jean's league—fuck if Jean was going to make a move on this older guy and be wrong about it.

“Jean…”

Jean nodded that he was listening.

“Do you know why I told Mina not to cast you?”

_Wait, what?_

Jean felt the intense urge to cry; it was instantaneous. But he reasoned that Marco was an incredibly kind person. He wouldn't be trying to hurt Jean's feelings. And he wouldn't bring up a sensitive topic for no reason. “...Why would you do that?” Jean finally asked, not daring to look beside him.

“Because Jean…” Marco sighed. “When you read,” he motioned to the stage in front of them, “you had everything too scripted.”

“I was reading from a script,” Jean said just to be a smart ass. 

“Yes, you were.” (Marco didn't acknowledge the attitude.) “The thing is, this summer's program is all about learning. And I thought not being in the show might help you learn more.”

“Okay.” Jean was thinking it would be better to end this quickly. He'd wanted to talk to Marco—really talk—for weeks, but, of all the ways he'd imagined their first conversation going, a humiliating lecture wasn't one of them.

“I think,” Marco began again, “I think...let me explain. It’s not that you weren’t good. You were amazing, and, if we had run that show, you would have blown people away. What I’m trying to say is that we were looking for flexibility.” 

Jean remained silent.

“You okay?”

Jean nodded.

“Okay.” Marco stood up but lingered for a moment. He gave Jean’s shoulder a squeeze before walking away.

—

A week later came the final cast party and the official close of the summer program. Jean was smooshed tightly in a back booth of the bar with some of his closest—and most rambunctious—friends. As much as Jean loved watching Connie and Sasha goad Jaeger into drinking well beyond his limit just to prove that he could, Jean decided he wanted to get up and get some air. 

He turned to Mikasa briefly to let her know he was getting out of the booth. She was shaking her head as if she could already feel the headache taking care of Eren was going to give her later tonight, and Jean gave her a sympathetic smile as they both surveyed their table’s antics.

Jean had been getting quieter all summer. He was never particularly loud, but he had been bold at one time. Probably when he was a cocky kid right out of high school thinking he was already the greatest performer the world had seen. College itself had humbled him, and this summer moreso. 

Jean kicked the ground around the bar’s entrance with his hands in his pockets toying with the idea of just heading home for the night, when Marco walked out to join him. They murmured hellos, and Marco lit up a cigarette.

“You smoke?” Jean asked, incredulous.

“ ’m trying to quit,” Marco said around his cigarette. “I’m an Irishman who doesn’t really drink, guess I wanted to find a vice,” he winked.

Their silence was comfortable, but there was so much Jean felt like he wanted to say to Marco; it just wasn’t in the form of any words he knew.

“Hey, Marco?”

“Mm”

“Thanks for this summer. Thank you for, you know, helping me see a lot of the stuff that I was missing,” Jean put a hand to the back of his neck and looked away.

Marco smiled. “Yeah, Jean,” he huffed a laugh, “I mean I don’t know that I necessarily did that much. Or did it in the best way…but you're welcome. Always.” 

They talked for a few more minutes. Then it was Marco's turn to appear nervous. “What do you say we get out of here?” He was hesitant with his words, but the grin he gave Jean when he peeked at him through long, dark lashes was devilish.

Jean agreed to leave with Marco. He was definitely into that.

—

Jean and Marco fell out of touch soon after. Jean wasn’t going to lie, he _still_ had a crush on Marco. But what if Marco saw their hook up as simply a nice way to conclude a summer of flirtation and nothing more? Jean was too scared to know, so he never called to find out one way or another.

And here he was, approaching the stage for what was probably the biggest audition of his life so far, and Marco was in the audience. _The_ Marco. The one that blew his mind in a night and then Jean blew him off, so they never found out what they could be. The room was full of people Jean had thought he wanted to impress, but now the only person he cared about impressing had warm skin, full lips, and a fuck ton of freckles. 

Jean blacked out the entirety of his audition, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But he had a general sense of how he’d done, and he was fairly okay with it. Marco had leaned over to tell him he did great, and then, before long, it was Jean’s turn to sit back and watch Marco work.

Jean knew from the time that Marco was two lines in that he was getting one of the leads. The play, _At Swim, Two Boys_ , was meaningful to Marco because of his Irish roots and the fact that he’s gay himself. Besides that, Marco was perfect for the role of Malone; his portrayal of the brazen revolutionary couldn’t be matched. If the directors paid attention to any other actors for the role, they were likely just being nice.

The role of Julian, the other love interest, seemed to be much harder to cast, and the directors had just about everyone try out a read for him. After a few hours, when he was on his way out the door, Jean was about ready to just chalk the whole thing up to a learning experience. He figured he was way out of the running for the role at this point. But then the casting director, a petite blond girl, ran up to tap him on the shoulder. She asked if he could come back to read one more time. They had him try five scenes three different ways. They had him read with Marco and a few more actors, who must have been on the short list for other characters. Two hours later, Jean was exhausted, and it was only him and the directors left in the room. The blond director smiled and whispered something to one of her counterparts. Finally, another director, Ymir, said, “Congrats, kid, you got the part. Welcome to Historia.”


	2. Chapter 2

This was Marco’s role of a lifetime, and the preparation until opening night was a whirlwind. The company took only four weeks to get the play up and running, and Marco lived and breathed the show. 

There was something, or rather someone, he could spare some extra time and energy for, though, and that was his costar, Jean. When Marco wasn’t working and reworking his role at rehearsal, he thought about Jean all day. On the train, at the store, when Jean was two feet in front of him and deep in character as Julian. No matter the setting, Marco still somehow found a way to be thinking about the most outlandish things. What size shoe did Jean wear? Was he into music? Was there any kind of food he didn’t like?

Marco didn’t take any credit for it, but Jean had really come into his own as an actor. Jean still bristled if Marco did something off script, but they worked through the initial tension it caused, and Marco saw that Jean had let go of some of the initial rigidity Marco sensed in him. 

Some nights during the show, Marco would place a hand on Jean’s cheek when their characters confessed their love for each other. Other nights, Marco didn’t. Marco simply felt it, felt what it was like to be in that moment, and he showed Jean (he hoped) that, whether something was scripted or not, they would all take care of each other onstage. The other actors. The characters they were playing. Jean wouldn’t be left hanging or look foolish. Actors weren’t in danger of “messing up” as long as they felt what their characters felt. Marco needed Jean to understand that. And Jean was getting there—it just took him time. 

About two weeks into performing every night, Jean kissed Marco a little deeper when they were in character. He held onto Marco a little tighter. And, incredibly, Jean would sometimes change his performance (ever so slightly) based on his feeling in the moment, the feeling he and Marco were creating together. 

Marco thought things were going as well as he could have hoped; reviews for the show had come out, and it seemed like their company was a huge topic of conversation in the theatre world. Colleagues and acquaintances were continually telling Marco that he, Jean, and other members of their company were bound to be up for awards.

Marco would have had to say his only complaint at the moment was that he hadn’t managed to really get to know Jean any better. Or that he hadn’t been able to hold him—the real him and not Julian—since that time they hooked up years ago.

Then, there was a night that was just a bit...off. Cast members seemed distracted; there were several missed cues. A few scenes that usually hit hard fell flat instead. It inevitably happened to every cast and crew at some point during their run. Of course there would be a show or two out of a hundred that went poorly.

Marco took it in stride. “I don't know about ye, but I could really use a pint. What d’ya say?” There was a chorus of agreement.

“You coming, Jean?—Jean?” Marco had just seen Jean right beside him, but apparently he'd retreated to his dressing room. 

“Okay, all, meet at O'Malley's at 10:30,” Marco called to anyone within earshot. He sent a group text as well.

Marco changed into his street clothes quickly. Just about everyone was up for going out to commiserate over their rough night, and Marco waved them on ahead as he waited outside Jean's door. Pretty soon, he and Jean were the only ones left in the building.

“Jean?” Marco knocked on the door. 

Seconds later, Jean opened it to let him inside. Marco immediately melted when he saw Jean crying. “Aww, Jean, it’s alright.” Marco wrapped Jean in a hug, and Jean let a few more tears fall. “Everybody has bad nights once in a while there, lad,” Marco soothed.

Jean nodded and wiped his face. Marco almost stepped away, but Jean held him where he was. He murmured something into Marco’s chest. “What was that, sweetheart?” The second time, Marco barely made out the words “my fault.”

“Ah, I see,” Marco said, “So it was your fault when Hitch missed her cue and we nearly skipped all of her scene. Oh, no, it was your fault when we did the first beach scene with most of the wrong set. Or how about when I tripped you up right before your monologue? This is good because I was wondering who to blame—”

“Okay,” Jean laughed with his face still stained and wet with tears, “Stop, I get it.”

“Jean Kirstein, are you smiling?”

“No.” (He was.) “But,” he protested, “it was my fault when I completely fucked up the confession scene. That usually gets such a reaction. I wasn’t in the moment. I wasn’t connecting to you at all. It was like I wasn’t even acting! I was probably so robotic. Where was I tonight? And then that made the kiss so awkward. That was like—”

“Jean. Jean.” Marco held Jean's shoulders. When he had Jean’s attention, he said, “You give yourself too much control over things you have no control over, and you don’t give yourself enough credit for how much you’ve done.” Marco took Jean’s face gently in his hands and tilted it up. He took a breath and looked at Jean seriously, “Jean, one off night does not change all you have done to become a great actor, how much work you’ve put in, all those people you’ve touched. You’re a brilliant actor.” Jean was just barely keeping it together, his emotion was on the brink of spilling out again. Then Marco said, “You’re an actor I look up to every day,” and Jean dissolved into tears, covering his face to cry harder into his hands. 

Marco held Jean until he calmed down, stroking his back and rocking them lightly. Jean relaxed after a while, and he left for a minute to go splash some water on his face. When he returned, he pulled on a hoodie and grabbed his messenger bag. 

“So, uh, should we catch up with the others?” Jean asked.

His face was streaky and red. Tears, snot, and water that he'd missed wiping away glistened on his face. Marco considered for a moment. They had the day off tomorrow after all. “We could…” Marco smiled warmly, “Or, we could go to my place?”

“Yeah,” Jean exhaled, “That sounds better.”

—

“Are you getting deja vu?” Marco asked. Because he knew he was. While leading Jean down his corridor, it was impossible not to remember that night three years ago when they'd done the same thing. 

Jean hummed.

Three years ago, there was almost no prelude to sex. Hardly any foreplay. And Jean had hightailed it out of Marco's apartment before Marco could even ask if he wanted breakfast. Not that Marco was expecting sex tonight; he hadn't taken anyone home in a year, and, as far as he was concerned, that was just fine. It just seemed like—so similar to the past—Jean was craving some physicality to help ground himself. 

Last time, Jean was entirely present when they touched each other. He was present in a way that seemed difficult for him normally. Jean had moaned loud and unashamed while they kissed and breathed warm, heavy air on each other’s necks. He seemed to lose his ever-present self-consciousness when Marco touched him just right, and Marco really, really got off on that.

Marco remembered moving his hand through Jean’s hair and pulling his waist in possessively to grind against his own. When Marco had kissed Jean’s neck wetly, leaving kisses everywhere he could reach as Jean arched his back and bared his throat, Marco distinctly remembers Jean telling him to “never stop.” Sweet and merciful Jesus, Marco was getting so hard. He opted not to adjust himself inside his pants in front of Jean and instead let them both into his apartment. 

As it turned out, Marco didn’t have to worry about stalling until his boner went down. Jean got right to work once they were safely inside. He didn’t even comment on the new renovations Marco had made in his flat. “Oh, want to get out of your head a bit, yeah?” Marco asked Jean between kisses. Marco got the feeling that Jean just needed to act before his brain started in on overanalyzing everything.

Jean paused. “Is it okay? Wait. I don’t want you to think I’m just using you, Marco. I would never. Fuck- no- It’s just when we kiss every night, I- I- mean. I really like—Do you want this?”

“Shhh. Shh. Sh.” Marco pulled Jean into a hug to slow things down for the moment. “Jean, I know you wouldn’t be kissin’ me if ya didn’t like me,” Marco looked at Jean and continued to hold him with his arms braced around Jean’s back. “I just—for me—I’ve always wanted to get to know you. I feel like—I feel like I know Jean the actor, y’know? But...I want to know Jean the person.” Marco searched Jean’s eyes for his reaction.

“There...is no ‘Jean the person,’ Marco...I don’t _know_ who I am.” Jean looked like he was close to panicking. “I, I don't know what to _say_ to that.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I see a lot of who you are. I guess you just...don’t even realize it,” Marco smiled sadly, “I hadn’t meant to stress you out. I’m sorry for that.”

Jean looked at the floor. The mood was thoroughly killed. _Well done, Marco._

After a moment, Marco had an idea. “Can I show you something?” he asked. Jean nodded, and Marco took him by the hand to lead him into the main living area. Marco sat Jean down on the piano bench and grabbed his guitar, putting the strap over his shoulder.

—

“Marco, what are you...?” 

Marco gestured to the sheet music on the piano and continued to check the tuning on his guitar.

Jean stared quizzically at Marco as Marco began to play. The melody was low and pretty, maybe a little sad, and Jean wondered if he’d heard it before. He turned to scan the music in front of him: Falling Slowly from _Once_. Marco began to hum with his rough, smooth voice. It dawned on Jean then that he'd never thought about what Marco’s singing voice would be like. And the lovely sound hit him before he could wonder. It was all low and moody, made from hot coffee on overcast days.

 _I don't know you_  
_But I want you_  
_All the more for that_

Marco strummed with his eyes closed, and Jean felt frozen in his seat. Marco peeked an eye open and smiled at Jean. Marco had a grin that always managed to look mischievous somehow, and his smile broadened as he opened his eyes fully to look at Jean. He theatrically nudged Jean towards the piano. Jean mouthed _Are you serious?_ Marco rolled his eyes. _YES._

So, Jean placed his fingers on the keys. He didn’t have a piano himself but he knew how to play well enough. When he started, he wasn’t matching Marco’s strums quite right. But, they took a few bars to get adjusted, and, soon, their rhythm was a match for one another.

Marco started to sing the next lines, but only softly so that Jean would join him. Then Marco dropped off completely to leave Jean’s voice to that part of the duet. The bastard.

 _Words fall through me_  
_And always fool me_  
_And I can't react_

Jean’s confidence faltered when he realized his voice was alone, but Marco gave him an encouraging smile. And Marco took over the next few lines before the chorus.

 _And games that never amount_  
_To more than they're meant_  
_Will play themselves out_

Marco’s voice was rich and booming, and it filled Jean with warmth inside. He readied himself when he saw the higher notes coming up, and he found he was actually enjoying this.

 _Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We've still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_  
_You've made it now_

 _Falling slowly, eyes that know me_  
_And I can't go back_  
_Moods that take me and erase me_  
_And I'm painted black_

They continued through the rest of the song. If Jean wasn’t already feeling brighter from the music itself, watching Marco lose himself as he played and seeing the look of pure contentment on his face would have done it for him. 

_Falling slowly, sing your melody_  
_I'll sing it loud_

Finally, Marco slowed down their tempo with his guitar and sang “two, three, four...” then trailed off.

Jean didn’t really know what they’d just done, but it had left him calm and sated, and it had managed to quiet the racing, anxious thoughts that seemed to never leave him. All he could feel was a pleasant buzz from Marco’s presence. 

Marco put his guitar back down in its stand, and then he looked back up with that trademark grin of his. _All right, so he cheered me up. Whatever, he doesn’t have to look so pleased with himself,_ Jean thought.

Marco got down on his knees in front of Jean and took both his hands. _Jesus._

“Jean Kirstein.”

“Yes, asshole?” Jean said, smiling.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Jean laughed til he was red in the face, and he sighed when he could finally stop. “Yeah.”


End file.
